


tenderly you go, into the war

by Iron_George



Category: The Originals (TV), The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Feelings, Fluff, Klefan, Light Angst, M/M, Pre-Slash, Romantic Friendship, Season/Series 03, Season/Series 07, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-22 00:54:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7412083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iron_George/pseuds/Iron_George
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PROMPT fic: ""Marcel takes the serum and calls all of Klaus' enemies to put Klaus on "trial" for his wrongs. Marcel calls Stefan to go down to New Orleans for the trial because he knows what happened between Klefan. Stefan goes down and tries to talk Klaus out of going because it'd be a "suicide mission" and Klaus reveals why he has to do it.""</p>
            </blockquote>





	tenderly you go, into the war

**Author's Note:**

> Any quotes from The Vampire Diaries or The Originals belong to the writers of the shows. I make no claim to them.
> 
> Side note: thanks to The Vampire Diaries & The Originals and their sketchy time frames, I wasn't really sure where I should have had Stefan be or what I should have had him doing at the time of the trial. My friend and I discussed possible theories to try and make sense of the plot holes and dodgy time lines, hence my decision to write Stefan as being in Mystic Falls again after the events of the crossover.  
> ―George Francis.
> 
> ©geoodlestuff©

Stefan had been about to head to bed when he received the phone call.  
  
Marcel, Klaus' adoptive son, of a sort, telling him to make his way to New Orleans for "Klaus' trial".   
  
"His what?" Stefan asked, perplexed.   
  
He hadn't seen anything of Klaus since his last visit to New Orleans, nor had he really heard anything from him or the Mikaelson family. The height of their communication prior to that had mostly been sassy texts and mini life updates (because while Stefan might have had several things against the hybrid, well... they were friends once; when the compulsion had been lifted, it'd been hard to  _just_  hate Klaus―they were frienemies, he supposed, leaning more towards friends now), so the phone call had come as something of a surprise. The fact that it was Marcel calling only cemented Stefan's confusion (and, underneath that, his dread―not that he'd admit it out loud).

"Klaus Mikaelson, self-acclaimed king of New Orleans, has agreed to be put on trial for his sins in the face of all of his enemies," Marcel announced, voice vibrating obnoxiously with that annoying arrogance that had Stefan gritting his teeth.

Really, it was only Klaus that could get away with that. Sometimes Elijah. Anyone else just... Stefan sighed. Useless thoughts that hardly mattered at present.  
  
"He's being put on trial?" He questioned, "In front of all of his enemies?"  _That's a lot of enemies_ , he mused, a deep frown on his face.  
  
"Yes, and I'm inviting you to join," Marcel announced, as if that was supposed to please Stefan somehow, or excite him. "I know what happened between you and Klaus when he was in Mystic Falls. I'm sure you want your vengeance―for real, this time. Trial starts in twenty hours."   
  
Stefan was about to respond when Marcel hung up.

He knew that he and Marcel hadn't really seen much of each other, nor interacted, during his brief visit to New Orleans. But surely Marcel knew that he and Klaus weren't really enemies, right?

The idea of Klaus willingly being put to trail in front of all of his enemies was absurd. That was  _a lot_  of anger and hatred in one place. Stefan felt his stomach twist with unease.

  
Right. Twenty hours. A fourteen hour car drive to New Orleans. That left him with about six hours to attempt to convince Klaus not to go through with a suicide mission.  
  
Grabbing his car keys, sleep forgotten, Stefan fled.

 

+++  
 

The drive had felt impossibly long.

Stefan hadn't been aware it was possible for vampires to sweat outside of vervain or werewolf poisoning, or perhaps it was his imagination tangling with his anxiety to create the illusion of sweaty palms and a damp brow.

But finally, at long last, his car rolled to a stop outside of the compound. Stefan blinked rapidly, suddenly noticing how sore his eyelids had become over the course of the journey. He pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes, rubbing away the dust that'd crusted in his lashes. His legs felt stiff when he got out of the car. Exhaling heavily, Stefan leaned back against the driver's side of his car and stretched his legs. His fingers grazed over his chest, over the mark that Freya masked for him, an absent-minded flutter of movement.

Suddenly, he was nervous. The prospect of approaching the hybrid made something sit heavy in his chest. What would he say to him? What would he do? What  _could_  he say or do? The excruciating drive suddenly felt as thought it'd been too short, not enough time. How could he have sat driving for fourteen hours and not thought about how to handle the situation?

 

Stefan was dragged out of his pondering by a flash of movement, and suddenly Marcel was in front of him, looking... disturbingly powerful. There was an aura around him that hadn't been there before.

The youngest Salvatore reared back a little, brow furrowed and nose wrinkled into a frown, lips slightly pursed.

"What did you do?" Stefan demanded. The bulky man grinned, broad and unsettling.

"There was a serum. I took it," Marcel said with a sadistic sort of cheer. Stefan felt the disquietude in his chest climax into a vice around his lungs.

"A serum?" He questioned, voice rasping with his blatant mistrust, tone slightly hostile.

"The ultimate hybrid," Marcel grinned. Ultimate hybrid. The title suited him ill. "I knew you'd come," he said almost brightly, clapping a hand down on Stefan's shoulder a little too forcefully to really be considered friendly. _Certainly not for the reason you asked me here_ , Stefan thought to himself bitterly whilst wondering what exactly an "ultimate hybrid" was. Whatever it was, it didn't sound good. It sounded foreboding.

 

Marcel led him into the compound, which was suspiciously vacant. Where was Klaus? Stefan would much rather have had him or Elijah greet him. Walking through, he peered into one of the rooms they passed; he remembered being in there with Freya, and that annoying prick, Lucien. He would've taken Lucien over a juiced-up Marcel any day. At least Freya had been around to tame that one to a certain degree.

"You came quicker than I imagined," Marcel said evenly. "We still have just over five and a half hours. So eager to see Klaus condemned?"

Stefan appeared unaffected, carefully crafted poker-face settling in his expression. He wasn't about to let this... abomination (because that was what Stefan had decided Marcel was now) get a read on his emotions.

"Something like that," he drawled easily, glancing around. Where was Klaus? "Where is the bastard?" Stefan asked, leaning against the bar of the room Marcel had led him in to as he was poured a drink. 

"I imagine he's around somewhere. No doubt he'll appear the moment he gets a whiff of you in the compound," Marcel said with some sort of undertone that Stefan decided he didn't want to analyse.

"Thank you," he said stiffly as he accepted the tumbler of Bourbon handed to him. Half of it was gone in the first mouthful, Stefan swallowing harshly with his nerves. He could feel Marcel's penetrating gaze on him, but he refused to be affected by it; he ignored him. A moment passed, and then, without another word, Marcel left the room, leaving Stefan alone with his thoughts.

  
He felt jittery. Itchy. Like there were fatal insects crawling under his skin, and he was about to be infected. The idea of Klaus walking into this―willingly, especially―had his chest feeling fluttery in the worst of ways. 

 

He couldn't explain why the idea of Klaus' "trial" had him on edge, not simply, at least, but it did. The analysis could be saved for later, anyway. What mattered was that he was shaken, and he needed to do something about it. The whole idea seemed ludicrous, for one thing. Didn't they know that Klaus' death would mean death to them all? Or maybe he'd missed yet another thing since his departure from Nik. It wouldn't be surprising; that man had a real talent for getting himself tangled up in trouble, self-inflicted or not. But Stefan denied himself the option of dwelling on that for now.  
 

+++

  
"Ah! Ripper! Come to make me atone for my sins?" Klaus' obnoxious hollering interrupted his thoughts, twenty minutes later, and Stefan snapped his head up to look at him. Despite the usual flamboyant arrogance, there was a hint of bitterness and hurt to be detected within Klaus' voice, like the idea of Stefan joining in on his trial wounded him.

In all honesty, it probably did. Awfully delicate, that ego of his, despite its size.

"No," Stefan answered quietly. He saw the quick flash of surprise over Klaus' face, though it was obvious the hybrid hadn't meant to show his cards so quickly. The man's face swiftly blanked into an impassive mask, but it was one that Stefan could see right through. They had been friends for a long time, after all, and Stefan did have Damon from a brother. "Can we talk? Somewhere else," he nodded his head toward the direction in which Marcel had walked. Klaus curled his lip in contemplation, before nodding.

"Follow me," the hybrid sighed, whisking away.

 

Stefan followed close behind him, out of the compound, through back alleys, until suddenly they stopped behind an abandoned warehouse that was located perhaps three miles away from the compound. Despite being a vampire, Stefan felt his body protest; it'd been at least thirty-six hours since he'd last slept, and almost eighteen since he'd fed. 

"Abandoned warehouse," Stefan commented, glancing around them before looking Klaus in the eye with a teasing quirk of his eyebrow. "How cliché." 

Klaus rolled his eyes and tossed a blood bag at him. Stefan caught it.

"Where did you..."

"Back at the compound. You think I don't know by now when you're hungry, Stefan?" Klaus asked, arching his eyebrow.

"I don't have to be hungry for you to try and get me to feed," Stefan pointed out. Klaus didn't give a verbal response to that, simply expressed his bemusement via a curl of his lips and a pointed stare.

Stefan glanced down at the blood bag, tongue laving over his bottom lip. He hesitated. He was, after all, still The Ripper of Monterrey―and, apparently, his ripper tendencies were genetic; he couldn't escape that side of him... but... moderation, right?

He tore into the blood bag with his fangs and drained it quickly, tossing the emptied plastic into the nearby dumpster. When he looked up again, Klaus was smiling almost sinfully at him. Stefan swallowed thickly, and found himself looking at the hybrid's hair. On his last visit, pressing matters had kept him from really paying attention. Now, though... Klaus' hair was longer and curlier than it once was. Stefan liked it.

"So..." Klaus began, rotating his wrist in a circular motion as he gestured with his hand in a way that suggested he was awaiting developments, "you wanted to talk."

Stefan inhaled deeply, apprehensive. Klaus came closer, only an arm's length of space left between them. The vampire furrowed his brow, ignoring Klaus' look of impatience.

"This trial," Stefan began, hesitating. He squared his shoulders. Breathed. "It's a suicide mission," he said, "you can't go through with it."

Klaus' face hardened a little as he replied, "If you're worried about your impending doom―don't be. That pesky little witch, Davina, performed a spell. I can assure you, my sire lines are severed. If I die, I die alone."

Stefan's breathing stuttered upon hearing that; he was, for once, speechless. Though only for a moment. Klaus thought that was the reason for him being here? To talk the hybrid out of the trial for his own sake? For God's sake.

"No, Klaus," Stefan snapped, stepping into the original's personal space. "I'm worried about  _you_. Don't go through with this, it's insane! You have a daughter that needs you! Your family are _finally_ united, and they need you, too, even if you all hate each other at times. You can't go through with this, Klaus, you have too much to lose now, and you wouldn't be the only one losing something."

It was hard to retain his composure. Nobody else riled him up quite like Klaus Mikaelson.

Klaus' expression morphed into something similar to one of the many memories that'd been forever burned into Stefan's brain since the original lifted his compulsion: Klaus, in the twenties, dressed to the nines and staring at Stefan with something akin to wonderment, awed after the ripper had called him a king. Too soon, the hybrid collected himself, offering Stefan a sarcastic smirk instead.

"Aw, Stefan," he said, tone almost mocking, placing a hand on Stefan's shoulder, "don't tell me you actually care me and my family now." He was getting defensive, running away from his feelings as per usual. Stefan gritted his teeth, jaw clenching in irritation.

"Cut the crap, Klaus!" He growled, slapping Klaus' hand away. He watched as a flicker of annoyance crossed Niklaus' expression, but it passed quickly. "You and me? We're  _friends_ , somehow. We're friends again, and yes I do give a damn about whether or not you live or die!" 

"Just friends?" Klaus asked, tone teasing but eyes conveying something else entirely. Stefan's mind flashed back to Caroline for a moment, her bright smiles and sunshine hair, her soft kisses and warm words, before the image was replaced with an image of Klaus in his white tux and bow tie at Gloria's, drink in hand, eyes crinkling at the corners as laughter, rich and warm, erupted from his chest. Stefan tensed.

"Could you be serious for a damn second?!" He exploded. "Nik,  _please_ , I'm begging you.  _Don't_  do this!"

At the utterance of the nickname Stefan had so fondly bestowed upon him during their glory days, Klaus seemed to sober. He sighed, a piteous sound laden with the kind of bone-weary tiredness that spoke of long, sleepless nights spent stressing rather than resting, and placed both hands on Stefan's shoulders, bringing their foreheads together.

The younger of the two flinched a little, an involuntary jerk that drove him a little closer to the man before him. At his side, his fingers twitched, hands aching to reach out and return the hold somehow, maybe grab at Klaus' jacket, or hold his waist. Instead, Stefan kept his hands determinedly at his sides.

"Look," Klaus said quietly, staring directly into Stefan's eyes. The vampire felt glued to the spot. Klaus' voice was an intimate brush of blood-warm air against his cheeks and lips. "I have a plan," he said. "There is so much more to this than what meets the eye, Stefan. Right now, my family are all either cursed, bitten or poisoned, and if they're to survive then a cure needs to be found. Freya is performing a spell, a spell that will have them all sent into a deep sleep whilst Hayley takes Hope and goes in search of cures for each of them. Nobody wants to say it, but I know. I  _know_ that I have to be the anchor to that spell," Klaus sighed heavily, closing his eyes.

Something bubbled, hot and acidic, in Stefan's chest. Truthfully, not only was he worried for Klaus, but now also for himself, though only in a distant sort of way. He'd always known his supposed immortality had a limit, that there were certain things he wouldn't be able to escape that would put an end to his long life. But now this? The indestructible, immortal, Original family at risk of death? Never had Stefan ever felt more mortal, not even in his seventeen years of being a human.  
  


"I'm going to let them dagger me," Klaus continued. "They have no way to kill me, not truly; but they can dagger me with Papa Tunde's blade. Whatever happens with my body after that, I know not. But I have to be the anchor, Stefan. And that is why I cannot let you, or anybody else, deter me. I will do whatever I have to do, in service of those that I love. Whatever I go through will be for them. I have to let this happen."

The way their foreheads were touching, their closeness, being faced with Klaus' imminent half death... Stefan was reminded of years ago, when it'd been  _his_  hand clutching Klaus' heart, when it'd been  _him_  causing the hybrid pain. And now... now everything had changed. He could feel his eyes were glossy, much like they'd been on that afternoon. It was almost as if Klaus knew what the vampire was thinking, because in the next moment his hand had come to rest upon Stefan's chest, over his heart. With fumbling fingers, Stefan returned the gesture. This time, his fingertips did not dig into the cavity of Niklaus' chest and squeeze his heart 'til it stopped beating―instead, they curled into the fabric of his shirt like they were seeking an anchor, a lifeline. 

"This won't be the last you see of me, old friend," Klaus teased, voice lighter as if to lift the mood. Stefan didn't feel any better for it. "I assume you won't want to stay for the trial."

Stefan shook his head.

"Very well," Klaus sighed quietly, "I understand. Though it'd be nice to see at least  _one_  friendly face amidst a crowd of my enemies."

"Yeah, well, whose fault is that?" Stefan attempted at humour. Klaus' grin was near-radiant. 

They stayed like that for a few moments longer, and Stefan ignored the part of him that screamed for him to step away, that told him this wasn't solely platonic, that was angry with him for being this close to another whilst Caroline waited at home, blissfully unaware. She didn't deserve this. But Klaus' warmth was comforting in a way that nothing else had been in far too long, the sound of his heart thudding against his ribs bringing Stefan some level of assurance, like perhaps the strength of its beat was proof enough that Klaus would survive this.

  
Finally, though, Klaus drew back―just a little, enough that they could breathe individually without sharing the same air but still with only an inch or so of space between them.

"I'll find you again, when this is all over," Klaus said with something in his eyes that looked like promise. "We can spend another summer together―attendance optional this time, without any werewolf hunting," he smirked. Stefan let out a rasp of weak laughter, shaking his head.

"I think I can deal with that," he said lowly, trying to avoid thinking about just how long it might be before Klaus would be free to roam the world once again, ignoring the pessimist in him that whispered about the possibility of Klaus never being free again. Klaus nodded, tilting his head as he brought his hand to cup Stefan's jaw, thumb brushing over his cheek.

"Close your eyes, Stefan," the hybrid commanded him gently. Reluctantly, Stefan let his eyelids flutter shut. "Take care of yourself, old friend," Klaus whispered. There was a brush of lips against Stefan's forehead, before a tell-tale rush of sharp wind hit him like a cold, hard, slap in the face.

Reality set in.

Klaus was gone, and would be gone for what would probably be years to come. 

Stefan leaned back against the wall, and kept his eyes shut tight until the sun disappeared below the horizon.


End file.
